


Widow's Kiss

by Gaqalesqua



Series: Monthly Requests [17]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Biting, Dirty Talk, F/M, Multiple Orgasms, Multiple Sex Positions, Naked Female Clothed Male, Overstimulation, Sex Pollen, Voice Kink, Wet & Messy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-18
Updated: 2019-03-18
Packaged: 2019-11-23 08:06:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18149279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gaqalesqua/pseuds/Gaqalesqua
Summary: Whilst investigating for a missing person, you and McCree are…incapacitated.





	Widow's Kiss

It had taken HQ a week to shake off the shock of Amelie’s disappearance after Gerard’s death, for Morrison and Reyes to pause their grieving and send out teams to scout for her. They’d paired up Blackwatch and Overwatch agents to check the most obvious places first, in the faint hope of finding something – even though everyone already knew it was unlikely that anyone was going to find Amelie again. But you had to keep hoping, and that was how you ended up in France, paired up with McCree to search Chateau Guillard.

The air outside was cool as the two of you silently landed on the ground floor balcony. This was a stealth mission, and that meant no radio chatter. McCree signalled for you two to flank the near archway. Obeying, you pressed against the stone, and he looked through. _Clear_ , he motioned, and then, _follow_ , as he ducked under the archway and into a long outside hall. Checking your six, you turned back to follow him, and you could see him frowning.

 _Split up_ , he signed, and you nodded.

The chateau wasn’t enormous but it was _dark_ , and you had explicitly ordered to make this a lights-out mission, which meant night-vision goggles and no torches. The place still had power, so occasionally you might hear the hum of an appliance as you scouted the place out, but otherwise it was quiet, the gentle lapping of the water outside soothing. No wonder the Guillards had made this their home.

Rounding a corner, you saw a small light ahead, through a tall archway, and briefly you had your visor scan the room. It picked out a laptop on top of a desk, and next to it, atop some boxes, was an empty case, slightly open. Lowering your gun, you approached it, watching as your visor scanned it and brought its details upon on the screen.

There was a clear outline in the foam lining the case for a gun that was absent, and you couldn’t see its exact shape with it being half closed. Reaching up, you carefully pushed the lid open, exposing the full interior.

Something beeped softly, and you looked up at the open lid just in time to get a face full of something thick and cloying. Staggering back, even as you tried not to breathe in, your throat bloomed with heat as you inhaled in shock. Coughing immediately, hand over your mouth, you turned away.

“McCree!” you rasped into your radio, your vision hazy.

_“Agent! What’s wrong?!”_

Your mouth felt oddly numb. You could only make a few noises.

_“I’m on my way!”_

You landed heavily against the desk, heat rushing through you, almost knocking the laptop off. Head tilting up, you could see your visor was scanning the air in front of you. Chemical symbols appeared on the screen as the sound of McCree sprinting to you filled your ears. You took another breath and it just felt like it was fanning the flames as the warmth spread through your body with a vengeance, dropping between your thighs.

The sound that escaped you as you sat up would have made your cheeks burn in embarrassment if they hadn’t already been bright red. And just at that moment, McCree skidded to a halt in front of the archway.

“H-uhh,” you managed. You weren’t sure if it was a greeting or a warning, but McCree charged forward to your side, stumbling as he tore through the cloud of chemicals with a surprised shout.

“W-what the _hell?!_ ” he growled, clapping a hand over his mouth. The weight lifted from your tongue and settled on your limbs instead, and you lay atop the desk breathing like you’d just ran a mile. The heat continued to spread, prickling at your skin and pulsing in your slit.

“Fuck,” you whimpered, just as McCree collapsed against the boxes with a groan that made you look up. Your lips parted as he did it again, his voice pushing against your sex like a touch. “MmmCcree?”

Confused sounds escaped him and you guessed the numb mouth was hitting him, just as your lethargy burned away beneath a sudden blaze of adrenaline. Your clothes _itched_ , sweat pooling beneath them, and you needed them _off, now-_

You knew you shouldn’t, but the longer they stayed on the _worse_ that need got. Each breath rubbed against you and something dripped out of you. You forced yourself to tense, clenching up to keep from ripping off your helmet. Sharp little whimpers flew from your mouth as the _effort_ of not ripping your own clothes off became almost unbearable.

He growled, and your eyes rolled up as the sound had you squirming, breaking you out of your own hold as you reached up and unzipped your suit. The whizz of the zipper was unbearably loud in the quiet and you heard McCree’s breath catch.

“What’re y’doing?” he slurred, thudding heavily into the boxes.

“T-too,” the cool air caressed your skin and you almost _cried_ in relief, _“hot!”_

Your visor beeped at you. Gaze slightly blurry, you managed to make out the words _substance identified_.

“H-hold on,” you breathed, blinking a couple times. A second later you pulled your goggles off, rubbing your eyes, and that was when McCree let out a _noise_ that sounded as much like pleasure as it did pain. You were relying entirely on your sense of sound as you looked down at the orange glass currently displaying a few lines of text, so you didn’t realise McCree was heading for you until he was, literally, on top of you.

His arms wrapped around your waist, crushing you against him. Your goggles ended up pressed into your collarbone but you were more concerned by the mouth stealing hungry kisses from you, McCree’s beard scratching at the skin. Muffled cries escaped you into the kiss as he shifted, his body moving against yours and tormenting you with hot friction that you could _feel_ coiling as tension between your thighs.

“What the hell is this?” he groaned, and his mouth found your neck.

“McCree!” you whimpered, and your breath caught as you tried to tell him about the goggles. You weren’t sure why _he_ was so out of control when he’d had less of a dose, but his tongue was stroking up a tendon on your neck and you were so wet, you were pretty sure you’d drip if- _when_ \- your clothes came off.

He brushed against the goggles and pulled back, plucking them from your hands.

“The- there’s a description,” you managed to pant, and he turned them around, an orange glow lighting up his face. You almost buckled at the sight, at the bared teeth revealed by the goggles as he read, and his hand dropped to your ass. Squeezing. A squeak choked itself in your mouth. “Muh-McCree-”

“Well,” his voice was so rough it sounded like he’d been shouting himself hoarse, “it ain’t _deadly_.”

Then he tossed the goggles aside, yanked his own off over his head, and crushed you against him again, those firm, warm hands running up your back to the collar of your suit. Rough tugs yanked the suit off your shoulders and down your arms to sit in the crook of your elbows. You were so _hot_ , you just let him strip you off, guiding you back towards the desk until you were lying on top of the cold stone surface. Shivering, you were too distracted by the man stripping your clothes off to be too bothered by the change in temperature. Your suit reached your knees. McCree grunted.

“Wanna rip this damn thing _right_ off ya,” he growled, his body pressing against yours. The warmth on your bare skin was accompanied by a hardness pressing against your inner thigh that made you _drip_ as you pictured him fucking you. He buried his face in you neck, inhaling deeply, reaching for your bra with one hand. You arched up and he unclipped it, the other hand hooking into the waistband of your panties and-

You heard a snap and a tear, then another, and cool air wisped briefly against your slit before he roughly yanked your boots off, one after the other, and finished stripping your suit off. He was kissing you hungrily as he grabbed your thighs, hooking them up and over his arms.

Your eyes flickered to the laptop and you wanted to say _McCree, the mission_ , but then you heard his zipper going and he unbuckled that stupidly ornate belt. Something hot slid against your lower lips, drenching in your slick in moments.

“Uhhhn,” was what escaped your mouth instead, and then a half-swallowed shriek as he slid into you, his hands clamping down tightly on your waist. The dull ache was good and you knew there’d be bruises there when he was done, but the sensation of him _gliding_ into you was just _perfect_. It was temporary relief from the desperate throb of your arousal, and he packed you tightly.

“Hol’ on t’something, sweetheart,” McCree growled, his voice strained, words still a little slurred. At some point he’d tossed his serape to the side and so your fingers hooked into the straps holding his chestplate on as he leaned in. “Fuck, _girlie_.”

The pet names had you whimpering as he drew his hips back. There was no gentle thrusting to ease you in. McCree rocked forward, his hips hitting your ass with a muted slap as flesh touched fabric. Not that you were paying too much attention to _those_ noises – because the ones escaping your mouth would have had you concerned if you weren’t so aware of how _incredible_ you were feeling right now. Choked sobs and half-strangled gasps filled the air as the friction of McCree’s cock, something that was usually an enjoyable sensation, though not likely to get you off, felt like every inch of your walls was as sensitive as your sweet spot. He couldn’t _not_ fuck you well. It was _just_ riding the edge of too much.

Already you could feel tension coiling between your thighs. You had _never_ been so close to orgasm so fast in your _life_. It _had_ to be something in the mist but…McCree had said it wasn’t deadly, right? And it was _so_ hard to care when he was filling you like this, the wet glide of his length pistoning in and out of you, dragging those noises from your lips.

His mouth found yours, muffling you even as his low growl seemed to rush through you, gliding across your skin like a thousand fingertips. Your nipples pressed against the metal plate and when the stiff peaks met the cold metal, you _squeaked_. Your fingers slid up to his back, grabbing hold of his shirt.

“Take it off,” McCree panted, reaching one hand back to unclip his chest plate. He didn’t stop fucking you even as he tossed it aside with a _clang_ that should have _absolutely_ cut through your mood and somehow _didn’t_. He shucked his shirt off, then leaned down. You cried out, hips jerking against his, as his mouth found your nipple, and that tension felt almost _painful_.

One hand grabbed your waist again and you realised he was still wearing his gloves, just as his tongue swirled around your nipple and he rolled the other between thumb and forefinger. He had enough lucidity to add a _roll_ to his hips that brushed his open pants against your clit a few times. The tension unfurled in you in a cruel wave of breath-taking pleasure. You _felt_ the air leave your lungs. You couldn’t even say his _name_. And it wasn’t for lack of _trying_ to make noise. It was just that, even as the quickest orgasm of your _life_ took you, it had stolen your ability to _breathe_ too.

McCree was still fucking you as the relief died away, and that edge of _too much_ had been crossed. You squirmed in his arms, breathless, and tried to make some noises to let him know, but all you could do was grab tightly onto his shirt and hold on for dear life as he somehow thrust _faster_ into you. Oversensitivity didn’t last long – a brief flash of discomfort, and then the next wave of unbearable arousal was rushing back and you found your heels digging into McCree’s back as he began to stoke that tension again.

Your eyes briefly widened as it happened, at the realisation that it _wasn’t done yet_ , but then McCree crushed you against the top of the desk, his cock twitching. You felt him _pulse_ , and then the wet rush of his cum filling you as his growl echoed throughout the room. There was barely a moment between him softening before he was hard again, his thrusts not stopping. His mouth found your neck and bit down hard. Back arching, you gripped his shirt so hard you heard a ripping sound. McCree drew back, _still_ fucking you, and pulled his shirt off. The soft _whump_ of cloth as it hit the ground was quickly put to one side when he pulled out. Your whimper of need was cut off by a gasp of surprise as you found yourself on your belly, your ass in the air.

McCree’s cock was wet when it slid back into you, and you felt him pulling his pants down, then gripping your ass tightly and spreading you wide for him with his thumbs. The leather on your skin just felt _wrong_ in all the _best_ of ways.  

“Fuck, this stuff’s strong,” he groaned. “You’re gonna be so damn _full_ ‘a me if I keep goin’ like this.”

Already you could feel the mess from inside you dripping down your thighs. McCree’s chest pressed against your shoulders, sticky with sweat. His palms slid up your belly and cupped your breasts,  sucking a bruise into your shoulder as he grunted. The touch of his fingers against the stiff peaks sent a burst of heat between your thighs. _God_ , you were so _wet_ , so damned wound up. There was a logical side of you that was pounding on the door, demanding to be heard above the sensations of his cock in you and the next orgasm that was quickly mounting between your thighs like a threat.

McCree’s teeth dug into the spot he’d sucked on and a choked sound escaped your throat. The logical side was crushed to death under the weight of your pleasure, your hips bucking as you shoved back against him to try and take him _deeper_.

His arm wrapped around your torso, crushing you to his chest as one hand groped you. His hand dragged across your belly, and you knew if his gloves had been off, there would be scratch marks lining the skin. Even so, there would be bruising, and your own nails scratched against the desk as your partner shivered, his body shoving yours into the table. Your breath caught briefly.

Everything this man did aroused you. Even without whatever was causing this _change_ in the two of you, whatever else was stoking your need, he was _good_. You would have happily let him do this even _before_ you broke into Chateau Guillard and got caught in that cloud.

 _MAYBE WE SHOULD BE WORRIED ABOUT THAT CLOUD?!_ Your rational side piped up.

McCree’s hand slid between your thighs, leather caressing your clit. You almost _screamed_. Two fingers rubbed against the little nub, and your body _ached_ with tension as you came with a shriek of his name. A surprised growl escaped him at the sound, barely audible below your cries, but it made your skin prickle through the white heat of pleasure, and you felt the erratic jerking of his hips as your orgasm seemed to be doing it for him. That was _fine_. As you felt that brief overstimulation, he filled you again, the mess running down your legs. This time, he was saying _your_ name, his voice deep but breaking, and his teeth clamped onto your shoulder again. Bucking, your foot cocked up, locking around the back of his thigh like an anchor to keep you secured. Not that you were going anywhere. Not squished against the table like this, trembling.

His fingers were still rubbing circles into your clit and you groaned, shivering. And he was _still going_. You could feel him harden again. Whatever this stuff was, you were just _not_ going to get any lasting relief like this. But when McCree’s hips sped up, driving downwards to hit your sweet spot again and again, you quickly stopped worrying. Whoever had left this stuff here for you to run across, they were going to have a _hell_ of a mess to clean up in the morning.

“Oh, _fuck,_ ” McCree groaned in your ear, “this _ain’t_ where we should be doin’ this, but _damn_ if I don’t give a fuck about that right now…”

You could _hear_ the sound his fingers made as they parted your lips and stroked at your nub. It was the same _wet_ noise that echoed faintly each time he shifted in you.

“You gotta tell me to stop, sweetheart.” His voice sounded _so_ good, breathless and tinged with desperation. “You gotta say stop, ‘cause if you ain’t gonna tell me to end this, then I…I can’t make myself.”

“I don’t,” you slid your hand over his, squeezing gently, encouraging his fingers to stroke harder and faster, “I don’t want this to stop!”

He let out a noise that was defeated and aroused, all at the same time. “You sure you ain’t sore?”

You paused, shifting, half-testing yourself for pain, and _definitely_ half trying to pull more noises from him. But there was no chafing, no pain. You clenched down on him and heard him _growl_ again.

“Shit, sweetheart.” His beard scratched you as he kissed some of the marks he’d left on your skin. “We’re gonna be here a _long_ fuckin’ while then, cause I ain’t done by a _long_ shot.”


End file.
